Lamenting the year and recognizing our blessings
2020 looked nothing like I wanted it to after welcoming our first baby.
I pictured the church nursery, learning how to get us all up and ready in time to be somewhere, meeting with our other parent-friends, and living our lives with our son in tow.
I pictured having lunch or coffee out in open spaces. I pictured having people over to our house to meet our son and play board games. I pictured getting valuable information about parenting, feeding a baby, or any number of baby topics over small chit-chat with friends.
Instead, we got a quarantine and lockdown. We got isolation. We got an overwhelming fear of sickness for our son. We got more questions than answers, and complete and utter uncertainty about future plans thrown right out the window.
At the start of the year, Ryan and I were excited about the upcoming birth of our first baby, due only two short months away. I started to feel the full effects of my eighth month of pregnancy, the swollen and elevated ankles, the unexpected tiredness of walking up a flight of stairs or around the mall, and the need to clean my kitchen from top to bottom, which is the cleanest it ever will be.
When I woke up on New Year’s day, the start of the year of our Lord 2020, I had no idea how difficult and challenging this year would be, and I had no idea how my dependence and trust in the Lord would be tried and tested through the fire.
Becoming a mom is both a natural and instinctive act and blundering in the dark, trying to find the light switch, stubbing your toe on the dresser and tripping over the shoes you forgot to put away. It is both rewarding, joyful and beautiful, and hard, energy-draining and revealing of your deep inadequacies and insecurities.
For most people, the months after becoming a mother are the most depressing and the most challenging of their life. You’re holding this newborn baby in your arms. You’re tired and the baby is screaming. You’re physically recovering from the trauma your body underwent to bring this amazing little human into the world, and you’re mentally recovering as your hormones come back to normal levels.
On a day you feel on the brink of collapse, when everything seems to push your closer and closer to the edge of falling apart, you look down as your change his diaper to find angry redness covering his precious skin. The tears begin to fall as you apply the diaper cream, promising your son it will feel better soon.
It’s in that moment, I began to wonder why this was so hard. Why was I struggling to cope with all of this?
We are still in the moment of recovering. I believe this is a long, slow process that doesn’t get better overnight. But, in a word, this was made harder than it needed to be because of isolation.
The months and weeks after giving birth to a child are a vulnerable place for a woman. You’re both delighted and empowered that you could bring this life into the world, and in desperate need of encouragement and community support with other women.
Recently, our little family drove around town to run a few small errands. We didn’t all need to be there, but it was nice to all be out of the house together. As we drove, Ryan looked at me across the center console and said, out of the blue, “I feel like we’ve been robbed of our first year as parents.”
When I asked him why he felt that way he explained that most new parents he knew were able to share the joy of their new child with their friends and family on a regular basis. We couldn’t do that.
He said parents typically take their child with them to the grocery store, to a restaurant, to church, or anywhere else they’re going. We couldn’t do that.
The global pandemic changed a lot of things for a lot of people. For us, it meant only one of us could do the grocery shopping, something we enjoyed doing together in the pre-COVID world and looked forward to doing with our son. It’s all too easy to get trapped in the what I’ve lost mindset, reflecting endlessly over all the changes, all the unmet expectations of 2020, and forget to see the good things happening alongside them.
As we move into December, we mark the ninth month my husband has stayed home with us, rather than working at his office. This would not have been possible without the quarantine and lockdown of 2020.
If I can’t find any other positive outcomes from this year, it’s that my husband was allowed time to bond with our son for more than an hour or two in the evening before bedtime.
While I still grieve nine months into this new world for all the loss and change and unexpectedness of this year, as I drive back from the grocery store alone and with tears filling my eyes, I look forward to the hope Jesus gives us.
My eyes turn up to the sky and warm sunlight taking the bite out of the cold. I feel the warmth spread slowly through me and remember, even though this year is nothing how I pictured it would be or wanted it to be, God’s mercies are still new every morning. His mercy, His love, His grace are not tethered to anything in this world, and certainly not to this pandemic or my expectations.
The world continues to turn on its axis, birds continue to fly south for the winter, my cats continue to snuggle at the foot of the bed for warmth, and God’s kingdom continues to remain unshaken by these events we’re experiencing.
My eyes might fill with tears every Sunday as I’m reminded again of all that could have been compared to my reality, but that doesn’t change the goodness of God.
Always, God is good, and isn’t that a blessing?
Photo credit: Dana Luig on Unsplash
